


And he shows me he knows me, every inch of my tar black soul

by lavishsqualor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comeplay, Deepthroating, M/M, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavishsqualor/pseuds/lavishsqualor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam actually sees Amara’s influence on Dean, he pretty much loses it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And he shows me he knows me, every inch of my tar black soul

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for this round of [salt_burn_porn](http://www.salt_burn_porn.livejournal.com), for the prompt _a glance like a dagger_. ALL OF THE THANKS IN THE WORLD GO TO THE AMAZING [BockVer](https://twitter.com/BockVer). I truly could not have done it without her. (Title thanks to Ms. Lana Del Rey.)

It's not something Sam will ever get used to: limbs locked in place, every bone in his body outside of his control. Dozens of poltergeists, countless demons, and now the Darkness herself. It's a trademark of their particular type of evil—lock one brother up and have their way with the other.

He'll never get used to being so utterly useless, unable to help Dean in any way, just stuck watching whatever the bad is doling out.

This isn't really like anything he's been witness to before, though. Dean’s fine. At least physically. Amara’s just talking. And Dean’s just listening, totally rapt.

“You don’t want to hurt me,” she says. “You can’t.”

“I can.” But Dean doesn’t move an inch towards her, doesn’t raise a hand or even make a fist. 

“We will be together, Dean.” She inches towards him. “I will always take care of you.”

Dean nods, staff of Moses idle at his side.

Sam's screaming out, yelling for Dean to _do something_ , but she's got his voice locked up too and he's struck silent. 

This is one of the most excruciating things he has ever had to watch.

Dean steps in closer to Amara, almost like she’s the center of some sort of gravitational pull. She hasn’t laid a hand on him, not yet, but now she’s reaching forward, reaching out and laying her hands on Dean’s shoulders, and Sam is livid. He screams, feels his throat tear hoarse with the effort, but still, not a sound.

As Amara leans in and takes Dean’s open mouth in her own, Sam collapses. He has given up in this fight, he’s powerless, and at the same moment, she seems to let him go. She got what she wanted. She’s got Dean all wrapped up in her. 

They’re kissing, and it’s deep, and Sam doesn’t know what exactly happens—perhaps she chose that moment to wipe him out. One second he’s watching his brother and the Darkness, and it hurts his chest so much he feels truly terrible pain, and then the next, he’s being pulled up by Dean, head foggy and vision blurred. 

“Sammy, Sam, come on,” he hears, and he feels Dean tugging him up. 

\---

Unsurprisingly, she’d let them go. She’s not scared of them. They’re clearly not a threat.

As he was waking up in a haze, Sam thought he heard her say something about sparing Sam because of what he means to Dean. He can’t be sure exactly what he heard, though, and he doesn’t know exactly what happened. That’s just another thing making him furious.

They’re heading back to the car, out of there now that the job is done and failed, and he’s struggling to keep himself together. 

He’s known all along that Amara has some inexplicable pull on Dean, but to see Dean in her orbit, completely captivated and looking at her with such devotion… Even when he is literally not himself, Dean has never looked at anyone else with the same devotion that he gives to Sam. 

Christ, Dean was possessed by the Soul Eater just the other week, but this? This was different. This was the same Dean as always, not actually possessed at all. He was in control of his body, and seemingly his mind, yet he just let her go. He didn’t even try to put a stop to how she was hurting Sam. And that’s not Sam’s Dean.

Dean’s rambling, now, nothing but swagger. He’s going on and on, talking about how next time they’ll get her, next time they find a hand of God it won’t fall flat, and he’s got his hands all over Sam, too, like it’s not too late for him to actually help.

Sam knows Dean, though, and this is Dean when he’s afraid. He’s scared as shit by this hold Amara’s got on him, and when he’s scared, he overcompensates, full butch badass come out to play. 

As if Dean’s making light of the whole thing wasn't bad enough, then, as they’re settling into the car, Dean quips, “At least she’s not a bad kisser.”

Sam gives a terse nod, but on the inside, he is freaking the fuck out.

\---

Sam is a rational fucking adult. He shouldn’t be losing his shit over this. He stays in control, can’t stand when his emotions get the better of him. He's completely lost to this, though, livid in a way he has never been.

He’s more than familiar with anger, blind hate having driven his motives and his whole being, revenge something he's based entire years of his life on, but this is not that. He knows what this is, and he knows that he should be able to talk himself down, but what he witnessed tonight was just too much. 

It’s because he’s never actually seen Dean like this before. He knows that Dean has no control over it, that he’s completely lost to her. But knowing that, and then _seeing_ it? Well. 

The drive back to the bunker should take about ten hours. Sam could probably get Dean to make it work in eight, but that’s too many. Far too many. 

He’s trying to appeal to his sense of logic, trying to convince himself that he can wait until they’re home, before he thinks, fuck it, and makes Dean pull off at the first advertised motel. 

Back out into the night after securing their room key, and it's dark as hell, half the streetlights out because who gives a damn about streetlights in the middle of fucking nowhere America, but he catches Dean looking at him. Sam gives Dean a glance like daggers through the windshield, not a word mouthed or even a nod, but Dean’s getting out of the car, coming up quick behind Sam’s back as the lock slips.

Sam takes in the usual fare, two doubles with not enough pillows, two lamps and a small ass television and a door cracked to the bathroom, but he could not give a fuck less. He's not here for a good night’s sleep. He's here to remind Dean whose he is. 

A quick turn and he’s on Dean, uses Dean’s body to slam the door behind them. No time for niceties, not right now. He bends down shortly to grab Dean’s mouth, to take back what is _his_.

Sam can taste the unfamiliar, taste _her_ on Dean, and the sick hits him deep in his stomach. He swallows the violent intrusion down and swipes his tongue further into Dean.

Dean groans into it. “Sam,” he moans, and that’s great, but that’s not what Sam wants. 

He gets his hands in Dean’s jacket and pushes him around, back a few feet over and the bed hits Dean’s knees and brings him down. Off with his own coat and quick hands in his buckle, quick snap of button and zip of fly, and Dean’s moaning again, anticipation now.

“That’s right,” Sam says as he pulls his dick out. It’s so hard, straining in his pants for hours now, and Dean lunges for it. That is exactly what Sam wants, wants Dean to clean his mouth of her and fill himself up with Sam.

Dean’s got his lips wrapped around the length of Sam, teasing around the head and bobbing slowly forward. It’s good, real good, just how Sam normally likes it. But this isn’t about how Sam likes it.

This is about getting Dean to let go. It’s about making sure that Dean knows exactly _who_ he belongs to. 

So Sam pushes forward, slowly feeds his cock deeper into Dean’s mouth. 

Dean opens wide, lets his jaw go slack, and he takes just as much as Sam gives. It’s wet, and Dean’s licking around the head, sucking along the shaft, spreading the wet down the length of Sam. 

Sam pushes further, feels himself bottom out at the back of Dean’s throat. The muscles are fluttering around the head of his cock, soft palate giving under the weight of his crown. Dean’s breathing solely through his nose, now, mouth full of Sam and leaking around it. 

There's drool sliding down Dean’s chin, and Sam thinks it's perfect. He wants to make a mess of Dean. And Dean is taking him down so good, but Sam needs more, wants to own that mouth, so he slides closer, knees up onto the bed, and shoves Dean down with his hips. 

“Let it go, Dean,” he murmurs. “Just let me in.” 

Deeper, still, he slides. Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s thighs, grabs his ass hard and pulls, grunting, urging Sam even further on. 

He doesn't want to hurt Dean, but fuck, there’s a small part of him that kind of does. He’s so fucking _angry_ , still irate over seeing Amara try to take what’s his. Dean is Sam’s, he belongs to Sam, and Sam alone. So he gives in to it a little. Tight, short thrusts of his hips, driving deeper and deeper down Dean’s throat, until Sam’s almost fully in Dean’s mouth, down his throat. He didn't know this was even possible. And god, he doesn't think he's ever felt anything like it.

Dean’s got one hand scrunched tight in the comforter, the other grabbed tight on Sam’s ass, and he is so into it, throaty grunts of pleasure pain escaping and body contorting with little aborted thrusts at the air. It’s not often that Sam is so forceful, but Sam thinks Dean might like it when he gets like this. Dean _likes_ being reminded that he’s Sam’s.

Sam is going to show him how true that is. 

He fucks down harder, tight clench of Dean’s throat so much, too much, and the drooling mess he’s made making the drive so slick. There’s no way Sam can hold out any longer. Jarring surges flow through his legs as he leans back, pulling out of that warm slick, but he’s got to see this. He takes his cock firmly in one hand, and Dean bends up, keening, “Sammy, no.”

Sam settles back on one arm, skittering vibrations running through him, and he pumps himself hard with the other, grunts out, “Yes.” Without even willing it, Sam is coming. And it is perfect. “Yes,” Dean echoes, as spurt after thick, white spurt shoots right where Sam wants it: all over Dean’s face.

On sex shaken knees, he crawls down Dean’s body to get at his mouth. Dean’s lips are wrecked, swollen as all hell, bright fucking red and raw from it all. One gorgeous pearl clings to Dean’s lower lip and Sam slides it onto Dean’s tongue with his own. Slowly, he slips his fingers through the mess he’s made, swiping it up and pushing it into Dean’s mouth. Up his chin and a little from his jaw, down from his nose and over his cheek, glob by glob, Sam feeds it to Dean. 

Dean’s murmuring Sam’s name, stops only when Sam licks into his mouth. He tastes good.

He tastes like Sam’s.

He devolves quickly into a pleading mess, “Please, Sammy, please.” Sam can feel him, so hard and throbbing as he tries to rub against Sam’s thigh. Sam pulls up off the bed, though, straightening himself. 

“Get in the car, Dean.”

A straight up whine escapes Dean’s ruined mouth. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Sam is not kidding. He opens the door and points to the car. 

Dean gets up, ditches the whiney angle and glares at Sam instead. He’s tucking himself straight as he limps forward to leave the room. On his way past Sam through the door, Sam grabs Dean’s mouth with his own once more. Dean might finally taste the way he should, but Sam is still not over this.

 

\--end--


End file.
